Raindrops
by SilverMoonPhantom
Summary: A series of oneshots, multiple pairings, variety of story types. "One drop raises the Sea"  Latest - Ameripan and Isolation
1. Freedom in Flight

**I don't Own Hetalia. It'd be totally awesome if I did. **

**Part of a little challenge I am doing for myself. I have to write a short story every day, for the next week. Spring break, you see. I have to get /something/ done. **

**Featuring~ Prussia, Switzerland... Denmark and Norway. Rated for some swearing**

Prussia started out a bit anxious, triple-checking his harness and nervously laughing off Denmark's questioning. If the gun-maniac could do something this awesome, then he could definitely pull it off.

"Be careful and don't forget what we told you about steering"  
He waved at the Nordic behind Switzerland, looking back down to make sure everything was in place. Practice was one thing, but to actually be doing this... His hands were already trembling in excitement.

Switzerland's growling voice cut over the sound of wind blowing past his helmet.  
"I'm going to tape this, so I can tell you if you did anything wrong."  
The blond gestured toward the slope, before reaching one hand to the strap-on camera atop his head.

Record.

Prussia shot a wild grin to Norway, who ignored him in favor of checking over his boot straps.  
"LET'S GO!"

Wind whipped at his thick coat as he lunged forward, crouching slightly as he began the initial slide toward either an awesome ride, or a fairly awesome death.  
His breath caught in his coat, cheeks already going numb from the cold. The swiss mountains really were frigid this time of year. He could hear the man skiing just behind him, Denmark and Norway patiently waiting for their own turn.  
They agreed to teach him this sport, after he had claimed German sports to be more awesome than the Nordic ones. After all, what was there to do when ice and snow covered freaking everything?  
Apparently, a lot.

He gasped sharply as his parachute caught the air, lifting him slightly, even before he reached the edge of the cliff.  
Snow parted cleanly under his skiis and he felt a rush of weightlessness as the wind grabbed his 'chute, yanking it upward to the skies.  
The earth seemed to fall out below him, leaving nothing but the wind and cold and the rushing of blood in his ears to let him know he was still alive. His hands were already cramping from gripping the ropes so tightly.

A flash of fear shot through him, and he shifted slightly, the thick cloth above him grabbing at the air just enough to pull him away from the approaching mountainside. Prussia's eyes were wide open, mouth stretched in a maniac grin.  
He could feel the sky, writhing under the cloth that supported him. The lines connecting it to him vibrated slightly, tugging him forward, faster, faster!  
He was one with the air, the heavens, part of the wind and everything it touched. Glorious!  
Tilting again, Prussia swept to the side, darting between a ridge and a tree, already knowing that Switzerland would have his hide for being so reckless. But GOD it was awesome.  
He swung up to the side, wincing as the straps jarred against his ribs. Too harsh.

The thick coat and pants seemed glued to his front, forward force alone keeping his iron cross pressed against the hollow of his neck.  
His skis touched the snow. Too close!

Arching back slightly, he invited the wind to pick up the slack from his wild turn, swallowing as it ripped him back upwards. He jerked one arm, trying to keep control, and whipped sideways instead.  
A (manly) squeak escaped him as he eyed the small space between a large pillar of rock and the rock-face he was now oriented towards. Not enough room!  
Trying to align himself to work with the wind, there was a moment when he truly thought he would die, smashed against rocks and buried under snow.  
Would Italy mourn his gruesome death?

Probably not. It's not like they could be properly killed by a fall, anyway. Perhaps empathize with the pain of being smashed apart by rocks? More likely.

Somehow he managed to right himself and smoothly slip between the rock faces, opening into unhindered atmosphere. He could see the swiss mountain range stretching out before him.  
For the first time, he could see all of the details that had somehow escaped him during the trek to the top of the first mountain.  
He could see flurries of fog pooling at the base, clouds gathering around the middle with sun streaking through it. It occurred to him that, perhaps artists had a damn good reason for calling this one of the top beauties of the world. When running in fear across the landscape, one had little time to ponder aesthetics. Especially when one's mind was occupied by plotting ways to escape gunfire.  
But this...

This was gorgeous.  
Dark rocks jutted up from pristine snow, shaping intricate patterns with the richly colored evergreens. The entire landscape was a blend of rough and smooth edges. Fog was pierced by rock, planes of snow with scattered trees clawing at the sky. Yet it somehow worked together.  
Prussia marveled at the landscape as he floated down the last stretch, keeping one eye on the place where they were supposed to land.

A few minutes later, he pulled hard on the handles of his parachute, laughing madly as he barely missed crashing into the rooftop of a small shed. The snow welcomed him as he skidded to a stop, limbs shaking far too much to support more than the initial landing.

Prussia flopped down into the snow, fumbling with his straps before taking his helmet off completely.  
He looked ridiculous with his silver hair spiked everywhere, freezing in place when the sweat-soaked strands met crisp mountain air. His chest heaved, everything shaking with adrenalin and exertion.  
"Awesome"

He watched as the blond country landed (neatly avoiding that shed, damn it) and slid to a halt a few meters from Prussia's spread-eagle body.  
He, too, removed his helmet. Only a few flyaways had escaped the spiky ponytail at the nape of his neck, and the deep green eyes were brighter with what Prussia decided must have been excitement.  
With his cheeks flushed from the harsh wind, eyes flashing, head proudly held as always...  
He wondered why none of the nation people had noticed before.

Maybe no one had risked life and limb to jump off one of the man's ridiculously tall mountaintops?  
This really was a beautiful place.

"If you want, we can go up again"

So freaking awesome.

~~~  
OWARI~

Denmark and Norway slid quickly down the mountainside, a plan already in their minds for the trip.  
It was not the first time they had used the blond's slopes for fun, and it probably would not be the last.

Norway led, with the wilder nation taking up the rear. It was the first who set the stakes in this course, sweeping dangerously close to rock faces and treetops. Denmark was happy to copy his actions, always attuned to the shifting winds. It was always an unpleasant surprise when a constant headwind suddenly died. The sharp dip was never fun to compensate for.  
Denmark's eyes lit up as Norway whipped upward, twisting around into a sharp dive toward the earth. A voice in the back of his mind screamed "Do a barrel roll!"  
Snow and sky swirled together in a maddeningly intense rush.

The cliff was suddenly ahead, and he banked hard to the left to avoid crashing.  
Norway was already in the open sky, head thrown back as a sign he was enjoying himself.  
The smaller nation applied a bit of drag, coming up even with his fellow Scandinavian country.  
They exchanged smiles.  
Denmark was always a bit irritated that heartstoppingly dangerous sports were the only time he got to see that smile.  
Perhaps he should toss him from a cliff more often.

**Inspired by~ youtube .com/watch?v=UwWLnaME0CI**


	2. Isolation

Hetalia, which I definitely do not own. This ficlet features the adorable Japan and the ever-lovable America.

_Japan isn't thrilled to have home invaders._

**House and Home**

He clutched the blanket tighter around himself, body shivering uncontrollably. His voice was barely a rasp, heard only due to the overwhelming silence of the room.

"get out"

America did not leave the room, indeed he seemed oblivious to the heavy mood.

Striding into the room, he (thankfully) closed the door behind him, and ungracefully sat against the wall a few feet from Japan's pile of blankets.

"The scenery here is really beautiful!"

Dark eyes peeked open a crack, sneaking a look at the American from between dark lashes.

"I've got mountains back home, and they're pretty cool, but yours are gorgeous!"

Did the younger man just not understand the meaning of politeness? Barging into a room, ignoring the host's will... tch. And then complementing his landscapes? Improper. Of course, he would never say such things aloud. Much too rude.

"Hey! You should totally come see my place some time! It's really big, so you'd have to stay a while to see everything, but I promise it'd be a great time~ an adventure!"

He could hear the grin on the man's words.

"Also, pretending that you can't understand English is a silly thing to do, since nations understand each other, no matter what language is spoken."

Japan turned his head, before shaking it minutely.

"Ehh? You don t believe me? Dude, I could understand you're people the whole time! Don't deny it!"

The young nation laughed, the sound seeming far too loud in his dark room. Too bright. Japan tried to ignore him, curling the thick blanket tighter around himself. He was still in Sakoku, total isolation.

No foreigner could enter and no Japanese citizen could leave. He wasn't quite sure why his officials had not dealt with the intruders yet. Fear of retribution? Ah, but the complete isolation had faded, hadn t it.  
Trade was still strong between himself, China and Korea. Netherlands, as well. Anyway, he really wanted to be left alone. Holland was kind enough to keep outside the door when delivering important news. He was courteous enough to understand why Japan didn't want to interact with others.

China barely visited any more. After 200 years, his self-proclaimed elder brother had all but given up, allowing trade to continue, and rolling his eyes when the shorter Asian refused to visit the mainland. Korea was still in his Joneon Dynasty and grudgingly maintained trade. Things were strained over there, despite the peace created by being a Hermit Kingdom. The American was still babbling, something about how different languages sounded to him.

"you..."

The blonde stopped talking so quickly, Japan entertained the thought he may have run out of air and passed out.  
"You re wrong." Blue eyes widened, and the other turned completely to face the bundled up nation. He rather regretted speaking up, now that America expected him to speak more.

"Nations don't just understand each other. I learned dutch. I m speaking my own language. You're also speaking my language."

"Ehhh?"

Finally sick of human interaction, Japan tugged the blanket down to cover his face, sinking backwards into the corner. His nerves were strung tight, and he was honestly very close to just running out of the room and locking himself where the other nation could not get to him. He didn t dislike America...he just wanted him gone!

He felt something against his shoulder. His muscles tensed, sincerely hoping that hadn t just happened.

Another poke.

"Hey... c'mon, man. You don't even have to leave the room if you want."

Japan's fingers twitched slightly.

"I just want to talk, okay?"

There was a long pause, and the Asian nation could hear shuffling beyond the opaque wall of his blanket.

"I understand if you don't like me, but you shouldn't hole yourself away like this. It's not really healthy."

Japan's fingers clenched into the blanket, anger rising suddenly. After all this, that forgien idiot still had the _audacity_ to claim that he _understood_ his problems? He could feel his mouth forming sharp words before he could stop himself.

"You know_ nothing_ of what I've been through! You walk in here, demanding hospitality and favors without even_ trying_ to follow tradition and you have the _gall_ to patronize me?"

The blanket was tugged off of his head, black hair frizzing up slightly with static. Dark eyes were alight with fierce annoyance, mouth pulled into an ugly frown.

"You think you can just win over countries with sweet talking and too-good promises, as if we're idiots! How _stupid_ do you think we are!"

The blond had a startled look on his face, completely out of sorts as the country unloaded his thoughts.

"Western countries, Western _people_, charging into our ports and convincing the people that _your_ way is best, that _your way is civilized._ It makes me sick."

Japan drew himself up, feeling adrenaline force his hands to begin trembling, so he clenched them firmly in his lap.

"How could you even_ think_ you could understand our struggles, our bloody histories and yes, even our language with nothing but casual nonchalance. You're not even the first to do it."

Memories whirled around in his head, words becoming harder to spit with venom as his throat closed involuntarily, choking back tears.

"And after what's been happening to China, and to my own people!"

America's eyes were blue, reflecting like ocean pools in the small amount of daylight filtering through his closed screens.

"I'm sick of this! I'm sick of these people, and this world, and I just want to be left alone!"

Japan hung his head, shoulders trembling after such an outburst. His sense of propriety was returning, embarrassment and humiliation rising up to smother him. Had he really just said all that, out loud?

He something brush against the cloth shoulder of his yukata and he was too tired, emotionally and physically, to move away.

The touch grew firmer until he felt an arm wrap around his shoulder.

Japan raised his hands, ready to push the other country away.

In a rush of cloth, he found his nose buried in the folds of soft, old leather and the ribbed lining of his guest's jacket. Arms around his waist and shoulder, someone else's hair against his ear.

"Hey."

It was warm.

"Hey, I'm sorry for bringing that up."

Japan just pressed his forehead into the old garment, feeling the sturdy shoulder of the other nation, despite the padding.

For a moment, he just breathed.

"I can leave, if you really want me to. I'm sorry I forced you into this, it was cruel of me.

America felt fingers curl into his jacket's front, drawing him slightly closer. It was...

Nice...

"It is... alright... You can stay...if you want."

A soft sigh.

"Thanks"


	3. Your life and Mine

Hey, Hetalia certainly does not belong to me~

It was Only a Feeling...

Chapter 1

It began on a Sunday. The sun was barely rising, splashing cold light across Germany's house. Like any other day of the week, Prussia was sprawled across the couch, having not bothered to walk downstairs after his late-night movie had finished. Candy wrappers were haphazardly piled on the pale carpet, barely covering a small stain that had stubbornly refused to lift, even after an hour's worth of scrubbing and cursing. The pale-haired German had a one leg covered in a pillow, while his other leg was dangling off the side, bare toes brushing the soft carpeting.

As the sun slowly drew higher into the sky, light spilled across his peaceful face, eliciting a soft groan. An arm was casually flung over his face, shoulder straining slightly as it was settled over his closed eyes.

Drifting into awareness, the German man slowly drew his arm back down, sliding it to rest on his belly and carelessly tug his shirt back down over his chilled stomach. He opened his eyes, blinking away the grit and tilting slightly away from the sunlit windows.

Something was... off.

He laid there for a moment, crimson eyes staring up at the smooth, pale yellow ceiling. His mind was mostly empty, floating with a few stray comments about the strange feeling curling up from the pit of his stomach and grasping faintly in his chest.  
Ruffling his colorless hair into submission, he pulled himself upright on the tan leather couch and pulled a face as he failed to smother a yawn.

Something was definitely weird.

The strange feeling did not leave as he pushed himself to his feet and padded toward the kitchen for a glass of water. The tap was loud enough against the house's oppressive silence that he nearly jumped, despite turning the handle himself. A quick chug and a mental note to brush his teeth, he strode toward the stairwell to Germany's basement, and his own rooms.

The feeling in his chest grew tighter as he slid down the stairs, nervousness adding a certain jerkiness to his movements. He carefully peeked into the storage room, boxes of historic items, notes and uniforms sitting untouched.

Running slim fingers along the wall as he approached his room, he noted that a faint light poured between the frame and cracked open door. He had probably left his laptop open last night.

He pushed the door open with the side of his foot, reaching around for the light switch.  
Yellow light blanketed his room, and indeed his laptop was still on his desk, his blog open and the instant message box flashing with new posts.

Despite the normality of it all, the feeling of unease did not decrease. He quietly walked into the room, eyes sharp and checking all shadows. His bedding was still lumped at the foot of his bed, bedsheets twisted and thrown to the side. Making his way to the other side of the room, he jumped when he noticed a small shape in the corner, mentally preparing for a mouse or lost squirrel.

After standing frozen and staring at the corner, his mind registered the familiar color, and he bent down with a hissing laugh ready to spill from his lips. The laugh died in his throat as he kneeled down, shoulders stiffening and his crimson eyes wide.

His chick. His wonderful, talented, beautiful little bird. It laid quietly on the carpet, feathers limp and tiny legs stretched out beside it. The wings were firmly pressed against its sides, thin down covering around its neck splitting apart strangely and revealing a sliver of pale skin. He could not remember ever seeing skin on the bird before. It had always been a big ball of fluff.  
The neck was arched back in an unnatural way. One black eye was halfway closed, the milky third-lid partially slid up. The neck was broken.

The feeling in his stomach gave a painful lurch, threads around his heart squeezing as he exhaled sharply. He was intensely aware of the carpet shifting under his jeans as he reached forward and gently prodded the still figure. Even before touching the downy feathers, it had already hit him.  
There was no heat radiating from the body.

Under his touch, the entire form rocked, rigor mortis already having seized the muscles.  
His breath was stuttering as he exhaled again, catching as he tried to breath back in.  
Jaws clamped down as he rocked back on his heels, landing heavily on his rear and leaning against the side of his bed. He ignored the metal mattress stand digging into his spine as he threw his head back into the wild mess of blankets, eyes squeezing shut.

A soft, chocked sob shook his shoulders and his head fell forward again, brow pressing against knees. He wrapped one arm around his gut, the other pulling angrily at the fabric above his heart.

Damnit.

Why.  
What had he done to deserve this.  
His bird, who had been with him for centuries. His chick who had flown messages of importance, and notes of mocking. His clever little baby, who nested in his hair and drunken from his tankard, and had dodged rains of arrows and sprays of bullets.

DAMN IT ALL, WHY!

His fingers clamped down around one of the blankets, and he whipped around, letting out a hoarse yell as he ripped through the cloth, hurling the remains at his desk. Completely dissatisfied with the pitiful flop of cloth against the carpet, he whipped an arm around and punched the cement wall.

A sickening crack caused him to snarl, and the following spear of electric pain lanced up his arm and slammed into his skull. He felt lightheaded, and slumped to the ground, arm flopping beside him, bloodied knuckles curling slightly.

At least one of the bones in his hand was broken.  
The wall had a shallow, fist-sized dent, spidery cracks radiating from it.

He looked again at the body of his fallen friend, tears finally blurring his vision and spilling down his cheeks. His throat was closed up and his body began to shake with his sobs, temple leaning against the side of his bed.

Prussia could do nothing but sit quietly, wracked with despair, gaze locked on the prone body.  
Why had this happened?

What had caused this.

His bird...His Gilbird.

Gilbird was supposed to be immortal, like the nations were. He had been around ever since the albino's years as a knight for the Teutonic Order. What had changed?

Seven Hundred years, and only now showed mortality?

He curled tighter around himself, half-heartidly swiping the back of his wrist under his chin to wipe off salty tears. Sniffing hard and exhaling another wavering breath, he stood up and wobbled over to his desk. Sitting heavily in the cushioned, but still chilly cloth seat, he tapped out a short message to one of his friend. Pressing 'send', he swiveled sideways and slid back onto the carpeted floor and faced away from _that corner._

"Please come over"

Without anything to lean against, the bed too far away, he simply tilted until falling to the floor.  
It seemed like only minutes later that he heard a door rattle and floorboards creak as someone entered the house. Prussia was only half awake when the hallway light flicked on, and long legs strode into his room.

"_Prusia! ¿Está bien, que paso? "_

The questions fired rapidly as Spain kneeled down beside him, already examining his broken hand. The throbbing pain had not stopped, but he barely noticed it over the tightness squeezing around his chest.

Bone-deep weariness had blanketed around his body, not budging as the Spaniard lifted his shirt to check for further injuries after he failed to respond to that inquiry.

"Can you sit up?"

His brain finally stuttered back into motion, and he gave a small nod.  
Despite that assurance, Spain still helped him upright, sliding beside him and let the albino lean against his shoulder.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

His eyes slid slowly to meet the dark chocolate orbs and he felt tears welling up again. He turned to bury his face in the tanned junction of neck and shoulder, feeling a pang of regret when his tears and snot dampened his friend's dark shirt.

"Hey, hey, It's alright"

Prussia felt an arm wrap around his shoulder and lifted head slightly so the shoulder could shift before laying it down again. Spain's fingers were combing through silver locks, the other hand rubbing his shoulder. He was aware of the soothing, nonsensical sounds cooed into his ear.  
"Cálmate , _It's okay..._"

He drew away, only his forehead resting on Spain's shoulder. His eyes were still closed, voice quiet.

"Da-Danke" His throat had caught, and the hand stilled on the top of his head.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?"

Prussia turned his head toward _that corner _and gestured with his good arm, letting it flop back at his side. It took a moment before he felt a sharp breath expand his friend's chest, the arm tightening around his shoulders.

"Oh _Prusia_. Lo siento mucho" It was barely whispered, his hair once again began stroking through his hair. On a normal day, he would have laughed about Spain's motherly way of dealing with things. He would have mocked his own weakness or denied that he was upset.  
That's how he dealt with the death of his bosses, after all.

But this...This was Gilbird. The chick had been with him longer than little Germany had. It was like losing a brother, despite the animal status. Grief was far too strong to bother with things like pride or appearance. The bird was too important to push aside like that.

His breath had finally calmed again, weariness pressing down heavily on all his movements. He was only barely aware of Spain twisting around and looping his arms under his legs. The only response to being hoisted up like an overlarge child was to curl his broken hand against his chest.

* * *

Spain POV

Though not at the ridiculously superhuman level that America possessed, most nations were still quite a bit stronger than normal humans. It was helpful Spain also regularly worked with his bull and his gardens. Carrying the slim man upstairs was not as difficult as one would imagine.

He had gotten the message just as he was looking for clothes after a shower, hearing the tone as he rummaged through his wardrobe. Looking back regretfully, he had gone to eat breakfast before checking his messages, and would have been here sooner had he not taken that kitchen detour.

It had been shocking to see the once-powerful nation on the floor like a broken doll, even more so when the man had begun crying on him. Spain did not really know what to do in that situation, since Romano had always responded in anger to whatever upset him. The position was fairly awkward, but he managed a half-hug and felt his own throat tightening in empathy with his friend's roiling emotions, despite having no idea what caused them.

He tried to smile and calm Prusia down, humming bits of songs under his breath, trying his hardest not to tangle and yank his friend's hair. When the German finally answered one of his questions, he did his best to listen. The vague gesture had, at first, led him to believe the man had simply punched the wall and hurt himself.

That did not make much sense, seeing as they had gotten into worse fights while drunk, and none of them cried over broken bones or nasty cuts at those times. Whining and moaning about it, sure, but nothing like this.

And then, he saw it.

He couldn't help but freeze and stare, brown eyes widening impossibly.

Horrible. Oh dear lord, how terrible. Prussia loved that bird, quite possibly more than he loved his friends. To have the little thing...

"I'm so sorry"

He hardly knew he was speaking, but brought his own head down to press against the other's.  
Soft breathing was the only sound in the room.

Making a quick decision, he asked aloud if the other nation wanted to go to sleep now or later.  
There was no response, he rightly assumed that the other man had already drifted off.

Glancing at the corner once more, he figured that Prusia would certainly not want to wake up to that scene, and lifted him up. His knees cracked in protest for strain after such a long time sitting on them.  
Spain stepped toward the room's doorway, hesitating and looking back. The bird was no longer visible, that corner hidden by Prussia's untidy bed. A heavy sigh poured into the air as he exited, leaving the light on.

It may just be a bird, but he still felt nervous about a nation-tied creature passing away. Even worse was the oppressive /feeling/ within that room.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that he saw a flicker of movement. He firmly ignored it, electricity skittering up his spine as he ascended the staircase and emerged into the natural brightness of sunlight.

He did not fail to notice how much easier it was to breathe after he shut the basement door.

* * *

Author's Note~

**EDIT - Thanks a TON to Valainstima , who generously helped with translations! This apologetic author only knows basic Spanish. **

Translations~

Prusia – Prussia (obviously)

Danke – Thanks (super casual)

Está bien, que paso? -Are you alright, What happened?

Cálmate – Calm Down

Lo siento mucho – I'm very sorry

I tried using things that were pretty obvious in context, or at least looked kinda like the english words. ._.

Ugh. THAT FEELING.

I don't know if you've experienced it, but I totally have. Death is weird. Anytime anyone/anything dies that I was really close to, I get this strange feeling in my chest, and somehow I just /know/ that something is wrong. I spent an evening frantically calling my family and friends, bewildering quite a few people, only to find that my beloved cat, Sandstorm, had been hit by a car.

Woke up and started bawling my eyes out, minutes before my dad called to say that Grandpa had died.

It's like some huge weight is pressing down on your lungs and heart, squeezing. At the same time, there's this awful ball twisting around in your gut. It doesn't physically /hurt/ but it's so heavy, like this thick cloud condensed just under the skin, rippling around. I'm terrified whenever I feel that sensation.

I'm terrible about updating, so don't expect anything more out of this. =\


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